


Until Dawn

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Explicit Language, Game Fusion, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, Minor Lydia Martin/Scott McCall, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Minor Violence, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never imagined that going back to Blackwood Mountain would result in a nightmare. They all mourned the deaths of Laura and Cora. Their involvement in what happened. But none of them thought that going back, at Peter's request, would result in the most horrifying night of their lives.</p><p>Stalked by a killer, isolated from each other, forced to make life altering decisions. All they could do was hope that something good could come out of the traumatic events.</p><p>[Spoilers for <em>Until Dawn</em>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of Until Dawn. Divergence on both fandoms' behalves.
> 
> Contains spoilers for Until Dawn.
> 
> I might develop this into a longer fic if there is an interest. Who knows. It's been sitting in my folder, so here you go. I hope you enjoy!

Stiles tried to focus on his breathing. He tried to remember everything his dad ever told him about what to do when faced with the unpredictable—the psychotic. And if anything applied to being psychotic, it was this situation entirely. Being stalked by a murdering masked psychopath _definitely_ applied to dealing with the unpredictable.

Stiles watched where he was stepping, avoiding all the junk and debris scattered across the ground. This part of the lodge’s basement was never mentioned by Peter—Stiles would have remembered there being a crumbling segment of the basement, adorned with spooky elevator and all.

Stiles paused his steps when he noticed what looked like plans decorating the randomly new corkboard hanging against the wall. He took the few steps necessary to notice that they were schematics for a contraption of some sort—the contraption that was used for killing Peter.

“What the fuck,” Stiles breathed as he examined the pages. His eyes flitted over to the type of shrine that was constructed next to the plans.

There were various images of the Hales all pinned up on the board. One of Cora’s Latin ribbons were pinned up there as well, next to a picture of Laura winning first place in a horse competition. Of all the pictures hanging there, not one of Derek or Peter was present. That was when Stiles realized that the reason Derek and Peter weren’t present in the photos was because they had been purposefully cut out.

Stiles quickly turned around when he heard the sound of distant footsteps coming closer. He pulled the towel even tighter against his waist, hoping that even after outrunning the masked psycho, he wouldn’t lose the only piece of clothing he had at the moment.

Stiles spotted a Beacon Hills Memorial medical file on the desk by the corkboard. He took one last cautionary glance around, making sure that no one was watching him before he opened the medical file. _Peter would be pissed … past tense is key here, I guess_.

Stiles felt sick at how easy it was for him to accept Peter’s death. Sure, Peter was Derek’s uncle and had looked over them from time to time, but something was always off about Peter—something was wrong with how he would often times say inappropriate things or just get eerily silent for several minutes. There was something still haunting Peter’s mind from the fire, and Stiles didn’t blame him for that—he just wished he had gotten help.

“Patient File: Hale, Peter,” Stiles read aloud. He quickly flipped through it, wondering why the killer would have Peter’s medical file on hand. He flipped through the pages, catching the list of doctors Peter had been going to as well as the different treatments.

Stiles couldn’t believe what he was reading. On paper, Peter seemed to be a completely different person than the one they all saw tonight. He noticed that the medical bills were all insanely high for the various procedures and stays Peter had to take after the fire. A pang of guilt at looking at personal files cut through Stiles’ stomach, forcing him to close the folder, tearing his eyes away.

Stiles silently moved forward, crouched as he went. He caught sight of a phone resting on the bookshelf. He furrowed his eyebrows, looking between the door that led out into the hallway and possibly his freedom, and the phone. He cursed at the decision, ultimately moving to snatch the phone. He moved to rest against a stuffed cardboard box, easily flipping through the phone. He noticed that there were several missed text messages. He knew that if he was going to get to the bottom of this and save his friends, he would have to find out who this psycho was—what his next plan was.

Stiles immediately noticed that the texts were addressed to Peter. He looked at the contact, noticing that it was the name of the doctor on Peter’s medical records. He clicked on them, only to confuse himself more when he saw how panicked the doctor sounded in his texts, urging Peter to reconsider his plan and to contact him. There was a single response from Peter—a curt ‘LEAVE ME ALONE.’

“What the hell is happening,” Stiles whispered to himself as he exited out of the messages. He quickly typed in his dad’s phone number, creeping forward as he kept his guard up, looking for a sign of the killer. He held back his silent cheer of victory when the phone started to ring. He patiently waited for someone to pick up.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” Stiles’ father answered his phone.

“Dad!” Stiles almost yelled before remembering that there was a killer roaming the premises. “Dad,” he started whispering. “There’s something horrible going on.”

“Stiles?” The Sheriff’s voice was laid with deep concern. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“I don’t know—God, dad, I don’t know,” Stiles almost whined as he thought about how the others could be just as dead as Peter.

“Calm down, kiddo,” the Sheriff used a soothing tone in an attempt to keep Stiles calm and alert. “Are you safe?”

Stiles held back a tired laugh. “I’m in a towel, in some creepy part of the lodge’s basement, hiding from a killer psycho.”

“What?” The Sheriff asked in disbelief.

“He killed Peter, dad,” Stiles stated, leaning around the doorframe to check the halls once more. “He killed him and video taped it. He took my clothes, showed me the tape right before he chased me.”

“Where are the others?” The Sheriff asked.

Stiles could hear the sound of paperwork, his dad probably writing down his orders to show the other deputies without having to hang up on Stiles. He had to remember to get his dad another ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mugs when this was over.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted about the others. “I went to take a bath—which I am never doing again without the door locked—while Isaac and Allison were downstairs talking about starting a fire. Erica lost one of her bags—it had her medication in it so it kind of freaked her out not having it. Boyd went with her to the lift to look for it. Derek was showing Scott and Lydia to the hunter cabin—oh God, dad, what if that psycho killed them?”

“Stiles, you have to stay calm,” the Sheriff quickly stated. “Are you in a safe place? A closed off room?”

Stiles looked around him, knowing that the answer to that question would almost indefinitely be negative, no matter where he was in the lodge. “Dad, there’s nowhere safe.”

“Try to find a secure room. I’m sending —”

The line suddenly went dead.

“Dad?” Stiles called, holding the phone away from his ear in order to look at the screen. There was a slash through the service icon. “No, no, no, no,” he repeated to no avail, shaking the phone some in a hopeless move to somehow force service back into it.

Stiles turned his head towards the door when he heard the sound of a door opening and shutting. He rose from his squatted position, adrenaline pumping through his veins as his flight or fight instincts started to kick in. He slowly peered his head around the corner, not catching any sight of the masked killer. He tightened his grip on the cellphone, quickly moving to turn the flashlight function on. _At least it’s good for something_.

Stiles kept the light pointed down low, trying to avoid having it flash up where the killer would see it. He paused by a pair of giant metal doors, chewing on his bottom lip as he stood on his tippy toes to look in the small circular window near the top of the door. He could see a set of television screens, all of them playing video feed from different locations around and outside the lodge. His stomach clenched, threatening to spill when he noticed that one of the screens was monitoring the bathroom where he was taking a bath.

“He’s watching us,” Stiles harshly breathed. “I have to get out of here,” he started to coach himself. He tore himself away from the door when he caught sight of a figure moving inside the room—the masked killer walking right into view. He moved as quickly and silently as possible, headed for the far off door. He slipped inside, almost stumbling over the camera cords, nearly knocking over the camera and tripod.

Stiles stared at the human figure starfished over the rolling chair that was illuminated by the camera’s spotlight. He carefully scanned the room before inching forward. He cautiously lifted a hand, reaching out to touch the shoulder. This was it—this was the big reveal in all horror movies. The lone _virgin_ always finds the dead, mutilated body before being surprised by the killer.

Once again, Stiles cursed himself for being a virgin. What the hell was he saving it for? When it was all over, Stiles was going to jump the first person he could. And he hoped to hell and back that that person was Derek.

 _You better not be dead you moron_ , Stiles fondly thought of Derek. He halted his movements when his fingertips brushed the leather material of the person’s jacket.

 _Leather … Leather jacket._ Stiles realized that it was Derek’s. Derek had given it to Stiles before he left to show Scott and Lydia to the cabin. Stiles had been cold, shivering as he waited for Isaac to successfully start a fire. Derek had taken notice and slipped his jacket over Stiles’ shoulders, telling him to hold on to it until Isaac managed to earn his fire-starting badge.

Stiles forced down his fear, quickly reaching a hand out and snatching the figure’s lumpy, cold shoulder. He whirled the chair around, instantly realizing why the action was so simple—why it felt so light. It was a burlap dummy stuffed into Derek’s jacket.

“What the fuck is wrong with this guy,” Stiles harshly whispered under his breath, frustrated with just how fast his heart was hammering against his chest.

Stiles quickly moved phone’s light around the room, trying to find if it was a dead end. His eyes caught on the backpack— _his_ backpack—hanging off the doorknob to what looked like a door to possible freedom. “Ha, jackpot, asshole,” he stated in triumph, infinitely happy that he didn’t listen to Scott and packed multiple sets of clothes.

Stiles quickly moved forward, his fingertips just grazing the vinyl material of his backpack when a strong hand suddenly wrapped around his ankle. He squealed, covering his hand over his mouth in an attempt to silence it. His whole body jumped in reaction, his limbs flailing in an attempt to get free. If they made it out of this situation, Stiles would always defend that he was allowed to squeal like a tiny animal when a unseen hand grasped his unsuspecting ankle.

“Ow!” A familiar voice softly cursed, the hand withdrawing back through the small hole with bars next to the floor after Stiles kicked it.

“What the—” Stiles started, looking down at where the hand disappeared to. He squatted next to the opening, relief washing over him when he made out Derek’s face. “Derek, what the hell are you doing down there?”

“Getting your attention, clearly,” Derek answered in a hushed tone.

“You scared the shit out of me!” Stiles replied, knowing that if they were in the same room, he would have punched him in the shoulder.

“I’m sorry! I was trying to get your attention without being too loud,” Derek explained as he leaned closer to the bars.

“Mission failed,” Stiles replied.

Derek rolled his eyes—a good sign that he wasn’t too injured if he could still let his eyebrows be judgmental assholes towards Stiles. “Look, are you okay?” He finally asked.

Stiles looked at Derek, trying to actually think if he was okay. “I … Jesus, I don’t know,” he answered. “I’m just really, _really_ glad you found me.”

“Okay,” Derek nodded. “I mean … I’m really glad I found you too,” he corrected himself.

Despite it all, Stiles found a small smile pulling at his lips. “I don’t … Derek, how did you get down there? You were outside, heading towards the cabin.”

“There’s some fucking maniac running around up here on the mountain,” Derek explained. “You haven’t run into him, have you?”

“Why do you think I’m in a towel?” Stiles replied, gesturing towards the towel that was barely clinging to his body still.

“There’s a web of tunnels down here,” Derek continued to explain. “I was following him, I got here, and I saw you through this grate.”

“Yeah, that guy, he attacked me too,” Stiles answered. “He stole my clothes, and started some sort of sick cat and mouse game.” He paused, suddenly realizing that Derek might not know about Peter. “He—he showed me these videos. Sick, twisted things as he talked to me over a speaker. And one of the videos … Derek — I,” his voice cracked as he looked at Derek, almost wishing that he didn’t have to say anything.

“What?” Derek asked in urgency, the concern evident in his voice.

Stiles reached his hand out to place over Derek’s hand that was grasping one of the bars. “Derek, the video showed Peter being … I’m so sorry, but Peter’s dead.”

Derek closed his eyes, taking a few short breaths as he rested his forehead against the grate. It still hurt. It hurt more than Derek thought it would.

Peter had not been _Peter_ ever since the fire. He had his moments, but most of the time, he simply wasn’t truly there. He was wearing a perfectly constructed mask that he refused to admit existed when others tried to confront him about it. But he was still Derek’s uncle—the last of his family. It still hurt.

“Derek, I think this guy is living down here. And whoever he is, he’s obsessed with your family,” Stiles continued, his grip on Derek’s hand never wavering. “He has photos of them in some sort of shrine. He cut you and Peter out of the pictures. And what’s worse … I think — I think Peter was in on this.”

Derek finally looked up at Stiles, disbelief covering his features. “Why would Peter help this psycho?”

“I found his medical file,” Stiles explained. “And his phone. He was really sick, Derek. He had a lot of problems after the fire—ones that he didn’t even tell you about. He was self-medicating, he even had a redflag for suicidal tendencies.”

“God damn it,” Derek harshly breathed, closing his eyes as he slammed his head against the wall just above the grate. “How could this be happening, Stiles?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles honestly stated.

“Look,” Derek started, taking control of the situation as he leaned back to observe his surroundings once more. “We need to find the others,” he stated as he looked at Stiles. “Once we find them we can—”

“Where are Scott and Lydia?” Stiles suddenly asked, noticing for the first time that they were not with Derek as they should have been.

Derek frowned, the silence becoming eerily ominous as it grew between them.

“No,” Stiles barely breathed. “Derek, tell me they’re okay.” His throat started to constrict, his chest aching as Derek remained silent. “Please, God please, no.” He let out a sharp sob as the tears burned his eyes.

“Stiles, I —” Derek stopped himself. “Someone grabbed Lydia—it happened faster than I can even process. Scott and I chased after her, but … We ended up in the mine. By the time we got there—” He stopped, looking up at Stiles. “They both fell down the mine shaft. I tried to find a way down but it … it’s a deathtrap of a maze down there. I caught sight of that guy, and I followed him. _That’s_ how I ended up here.”

“If they fell—Derek they could be alive,” Stiles argued. “They could be trapped down there.”

“And if they are, they’re going to survive long enough for us to get help,” Derek answered. “We’re no good to them lost or in this fucking psycho’s lair. We need to get help.”

“I was able to call my dad,” Stiles started, brushing his shed tears away with the back of his hand before holding up Peter’s phone. “I lost the call, but I was able to tell him what happened. I’m sure he’s sending the cavalry as we speak.”

“Good,” Derek nodded in affirmation. “Look, there’s a door over here that I can’t get open. I think it’s locked from the other side. Do you think you could—”

“—I’m on it,” Stiles quickly answered, finally releasing Derek’s hand to stand up. He snatched his backpack up, slipping it onto his back as he moved to open the door. He easily slipped through with little noise, moving down the steps and towards the door he was certain Derek had gestured to. He lifted the board laying across the metal latches, placing it down to the side. He took one last look around him before he pushed through the door.

Derek turned at the sound of the noise, moving forward when he noticed it was Stiles coming through the door.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile when he moved towards Derek. He happily wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him close. “I’m so fucking glad you found me.”

“Me too,” Derek uttered as he wrapped his arms around Stiles’ torso. “I was really worried.” A few moments passed, the silence no longer being overly threatening. “And you’re wearing a towel,” Derek suddenly stated.

Stiles cursed his ability to still blush, even in a life or death situation. “And you look like hell,” he stated as he took in Derek’s disheveled appearance.

Derek was covered in soot, likely from the mine. His long sleeve Henley was covered in dirt, having lost his winter vest. His hair was messy, several cuts here and there across his face. He looked like hell.

“Nice seeing you, too,” Derek fondly stated as he pulled back from Stiles.

Stiles immediately moved a hand to hold onto the slipping towel. “This isn’t how I imagined you’d be seeing me like this for the first time.” His eyes widened when he realized what he just said.

“You wanted me to see you in just a towel?” Derek curiously asked.

Stiles released a noise of indignation. “Derek, please end my misery and tell me we can have this conversation when we are both dressed and there isn’t a psychotic murdering running around in the same building as us.”

“You’re right, we have to get out of here,” Derek complied as he turned around to give Stiles some privacy to change. “Because I definitely don’t want this to be the last time I see you in just a towel.” He held back a faint puff of laughter when he heard Stiles disrupt something.

“This is serious, Derek,” Stiles stated.

Derek hummed in agreement as he listened to the sound of material slipping onto Stiles’ body. “I was being serious,” he stated.

Stiles was quiet for a few more seconds, clothes rustling as he pulled his plaid flannel on over his long sleeved Henley for an extra layer. “Okay,” he announced as an okay for Derek to turn around.

Derek turned to look at Stiles, a faint smile still evident on his lips.

“We have to work on your timing,” Stiles stated, a similar smiling crossing his lips. “There's something majorly wrong with us—we need to be looking for the others.”

“Nothing like a traumatic event to bring people together,” Derek lightly stated. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought about that statement. “No, it can’t be,” he stated to himself, recalling a statement Peter made earlier about Isaac and Allison becoming closer if tragedy struck.

“What?” Stiles asked, a seriousness falling over them both.

“Peter,” Derek stated. “It’s Peter.”

Stiles was about to say something when they heard two screams followed by a loud gunshot.

“That was Allison,” Stiles stated.

“And Isaac,” Derek added.

Both of them quickly moved to follow after the noise. They reached a jammed door, both of them easily using their combined strength to slam it open. Stiles stumbled some from the sudden buckling of the door, only to be steadied by Derek’s hand on his arm.

“Allison, Isaac,” Stiles quickly called their name as they approached them.

They were both strapped to some type of metal contraption—their chairs facing each other as giant saw blade started to slowly spin to a stop above them. It was a similar saw blade to the one Stiles had seen go through Peter. Isaac’s full attention was on Allison, whose eyes were tightly shut.

Allison had her freed hand wrapped around the grip of a handgun, pressing the gun up under her chin. She slowly opened her eyes, looking at Stiles and Derek. She turned to look at Isaac as she lowered the gun, tears still burning her eyes from moments earlier.

“Are you two okay?” Derek asked as he started to undo the restraints on Isaac.

“He wanted Allison to kill one of us,” Isaac weakly stated as he watched Stiles help Allison.

The minute Allison was free, she ran around the table, embracing Isaac the moment Derek finished undoing the restraints.

“You should have shot me,” Isaac suddenly stated. “You shouldn’t have—”

“But I wouldn't. I'd still make the same choice,” Allison softly stated, her words muffled from where she pressed her face into the hollow of Isaac’s throat.

“As touching as this is,” Stiles started, his eyes dashing around the room as he waited for the killer to appear. “We need to get out of here. That psycho—”

“Is Peter,” Derek stated. He took in the surprised looks from the others before he turned to seek out the cameras he knew were likely placed about. “You can come out now, Peter. It’s over!”

“Derek, Derek, Derek,” a blurred voice of the killer started.

“Derek!” Stiles yelled his name, pointed behind Isaac and Allison.

Derek turned to look, seeing the masked killer emerging from the shadows. Isaac tightened his hold on Allison, both of them backing up from the encroaching danger. Allison raised the gun, firing a few rounds, only to hear the killer laugh.

“Haven’t you ever heard of blanks, Allison?” The killer mockingly questioned.

Allison reacted on instinct, breaking away from Isaac as she reared her arm back, whipping the gun straight at the killer, hitting him square in the forehead. The hit caused the killer to stammers some as he cursed.

“This had gone on long enough, it’s over,” Derek firmly stated, moving to stand between the killer and the others.

“You ruin _everything_ , Derek,” the killer stated as he ripped off the mask covering his face, revealing himself to be none other than Peter.

“What?” Isaac uttered in disbelief.

“You were dead,” Allison stated.

“Special effects, dears,” Peter stated in explanation as he ran a hand through his hair.

Derek silently moved forward, punching Peter in the face. The suddenness caused the others to slightly jump. Stiles quickly moved forward, grabbing Derek’s arms as he pulled him back against his chest.

“Don’t,” Stiles stated when Derek tried to move forward. “He’s not worth it.”

“Worth it,” Peter sneered as he wiped the blood away from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you? Are you insane?” Allison asked.

“I think his current actions prove that to be a yes,” Isaac commented.

“He’s clearly off his meds,” Derek answered.

“Come, come, why the long faces?” Peter questioned, moving to stand up. “It’s good to get the heart racing every now and again, dear nephew.”

“The others, what about them?” Stiles questioned. “Are Erica and Boyd okay?”

“They were fortunate enough to sneak out of my range of spectacle,” Peter stated, a bitterness in his tone.

“What about Scott and Lydia?” Derek asked. “What was the point of that?”

“What?” Peter asked. “What about them?”

“The mine, Peter,” Derek loudly stated, his anger boiling up once more. “What was the point in dragging Lydia into the mine? Why collapse the lift with Scott and her on it?”

“They’re in a mine?” Allison incredulously asked. “Are they alive?” She asked in concern.

“I don’t know,” Derek stated.

“Then they got what they deserved,” Peter stated.

“You son of a bitch,” Derek went to move forward, Stiles yanking him back. “Let go of me, Stiles!”

“He’s sick, Derek!” Stiles argued. “He needs medical attention.”

“He might have killed Scott and Lydia,” Isaac argued against Stiles.

“Might being the key word,” Stiles reasoned. “I’m pissed at him too, trust me on that. But beating him to a pulp isn’t going to change that.”

Derek remained silent, offering a small nod in agreement with Stiles.

“My dad is on his way,” Stiles continued to explain. “Erica and Boyd probably ran into whoever he sent up here for help. We should head back to the lodge and wait to hear from him.”

~*~

Derek ended up gagging Peter after they bound his hands behind his back to prevent him from escaping, keeping him silent as Isaac and Allison both roamed all over the lodge, trying to find a signal in order to call the ranger tower. They were all desperate to get word out that Scott and Lydia were trapped in the mine located near the Sanatorium.

Stiles kept a look out for signs of Erica and Boyd, as well as the rescue team. He kept silent, only tearing his eyes away from the window when he felt a warm material move across his shoulders. He looked to see that it was Derek’s leather jacket hanging over his shoulders. He looked up, catching sight of Derek’s small but reassuring smile.

“Thanks,” Stiles stated, moving to push his arms through the sleeves. “I think I was more pissed that he stole this than the fact that he took all my clothes.”

Derek allowed his lips to turn upwards into a bigger smile.

“Do you think … Derek, what if Scott and Lydia—”

“Don’t go there,” Derek immediately stated, losing his smile. “I know it’s unbearable just waiting here, but we can’t go poking around in a condemned mine. Once they get here, they’ll send in the right people and find them.”

Stiles faintly nodded as he turned to look back out the window. His whole body became rigid when he saw something moving through the woods. “Oh my God,” he nearly whispered, immediately opening the door and running outside.

Derek followed after him, not sure what he saw.

“Are you okay?” Stiles yelled as he came closer to the people limping through the woods.

Derek felt a wave of relief wash over him when he noticed it was Boyd carrying a dirtied and disheveled looking Lydia, followed by Erica who was helping a limping Scott walk.

“I’m going to sue whoever didn’t close up that mine,” Lydia stated, taking in a small, pain gasp as she twisted some in Boyd’s grip.

“But you’re okay?” Stiles asked again, walking beside Boyd as he headed for the lodge.

“I did a quick assessment,” Scott stated.

“You’re a vet in training,” Derek replied, moving to Scott’s other side to make his walking easier.

“A vet is better than nothing,” Scott answered with a soft smile.

"How did you find them?" Derek asked Boyd.

"He saw Scott stumbling out of the tree line, carrying Lydia as best he could," Boyd explained.

"They scared the crap out of us," Erica added. "I screamed loud enough I think I made Boyd deaf in one ear."

“Let’s get into the lodge,” Stiles stated. “The cavalry should be coming in soon.”

“Your call got through?” Lydia asked.

“You’re going to want to sit for this story,” Stiles started.

They all felt more at ease once the door to the lodge shut tightly behind them. What they didn’t realize was that there was something much darker and dangerous lurking in the woods and through the mine than any of their nightmares could conjure. None of them saw the quickly moving shadow dashing through the woods, moving to keep a lingering eye on the lodge and its occupants.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [drunklightning](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com) is my blog where I reblog anything I find of interest.
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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